Page 128 of Crosshairs

When Ainsley woke the next morning, it took her a second to realize she wasn’t at Cora’s but in her own bedroom at Gran’s. She threw the covers back, and a small leather-bound book fell to the floor. Ainsley picked it up and set it on the nightstand. Charlotte Elliott’s diary from the time her husband died.

She’d gone to bed early, but it wasn’t long before the flowing script blurred on the page and she’d fallen asleep. There were only ten or so pages left, and maybe she’d skim them and then take the diary to Cora later today.

Ainsley climbed back in bed and leaned against the headboard.

Sari found me unconscious and sent her husband, Mose, to fetch Robert. Before Mose left, he laid the pistol my father had given me on the floor beside me. I remember none of this and was informed of this later and only recall what follows in bits and pieces with Mose and Sari filling in the missing details.

Sari tried to get me up, but being dead weight, I was too heavy for her to move. Smelling salts brought me to my senses. She pressed the gun in my hand just as Zachary returned to the house with a bullwhip. I remember his words and the fury in his face.

“I’ll teach you to disobey me!”

When he drew back the whip in his hand, I barely remember firing the gun. And then, I remember nothing until the next day when Sari told me I’d shot Zachary dead when he attacked me again. By that time, it was too late to save my brother from my husband’s murderous friends.

Sari and Mose convinced me to say nothing, that even though I was only trying to protect myself, the sheriff who was Zachary’s friend might not believe me, and justice would not be served if I were arrested for killing him.

However, I do not know if I can live with this. It is eating away at me.

“Oh no.”Ainsley lifted her hand to her lips as she read the last sentence. Poor Charlotte. But Cora would be so happy to learn the diary held the proof her great-grandfather hadn’t killed Zachary.

The aroma of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls tickled her nose. She hadn’t heard Gran in the kitchen. Ainsley slipped the book into the pocket of her cotton robe and padded down the hall to the kitchen, intending to show Gran the entry.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Gran said as she took the rolls from the oven. “I’d call that good timing.”

“Me too.” Ainsley poured a cup of coffee and took it to the table. Her mouth watered when Gran set a steaming hot roll in front of her.

“Wait until it cools.”

She smiled. “How many times do you think you’ve said that to me?”

“At least once a day when you were growing up.”

Ainsley cut the roll in fourths so it would cool quicker. As soon as it wouldn’t take the skin off her tongue, she popped a bite into her mouth. “These are so good.”

“Thank you. Your dad loves them too.”

A shadow crossed her good mood. She hoped Gran didn’t want to talk about him this morning.

“He’s dropping by in a little while.”

“Oh.” That was the reason for the cinnamon rolls. “I’ll try to be out of here before he arrives.” Immediately her words shamed her. She sounded like a petulant ten-year-old. Besides that, she owed him an apology, one she’d successfully managed to avoid until this minute. “I’m sorry.”

“I made them because you both love cinnamon rolls.” Gran sat beside her at the table. “I’m praying you two can work out your problems.”

“God did part the Red Sea,” Ainsley muttered.

“I heard that.” Gran squeezed her hand. “In the last year, he’s changed.”

She had noticed he wasn’t as mercurial. “What caused it?”

“That’s his story—”

“To tell, not mine,” Ainsley finished the sentence she’d heard every time she’d asked her grandmother for information Gran deemed private.

A car door slammed. “You didn’t tell me he’d be here this soon.”

“You didn’t ask. Just give him a chance.” Gran stood as the back door opened. “Good morning, son.”

“Morning, Mom,” he replied, kissing her on the cheek.

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